Imperial Existence
by Astrea Xenophon
Summary: Romano happens to be a prince, not that anyone can know that without his and his brothers lives becoming threatened. Why is the truth hidden from his nation? Will the truth ever be revealed... And what could the consequences be if such a secret escaped?


A/N – Hi guys! I've had this idea turning around in my mind for quite a while now and it's finally making its way onto virtual paper! ((Microsoft word = virtual paper)) Thanks for viewing 2 Princes and I hope you enjoy!

I don't own Hetalia… neither do I own Microsoft Word for that matter. This is a non-profitable piece of fan-labour that I have written for my personal entertainment and education. I hope you enjoy it.

"Ro… Rom… Roma… Roma~… Roma? ROMANO... ROMANOOOOOOO…" His voice reverberated around Romano Vargas' sleep engulfed brain, nonsensical sound slowly transforming itself into comprehensible speech within the confines of his mind as the sleep slowly began to slip from his consciousness, despite how desperately he clung onto it in the hope of extending his dreams.

"Romano~… please wake up…" There was a pause before the voice resumed its torturing, "…I'm going to jump on your bed if you don't get up right now Roma."

…_silence…_

It seemed that the voice hadn't been giving him empty threats as Romano had hoped; the mattress sighed a little on one side and Romano's empty stomach was soon churning as the owner of the voice sprang up and down beside him, his temper was rising at a rate usually considered impossible for the average human being, however this _was_ Romano Vargas. Seconds later, a single eye cracked open and fast reflexes grabbed the ankle of his assaulter, easily tipping Feliciano Vargas off balance and effectively putting a stop to that horrible ship-like feeling. Romano's head swam with the sudden movement… it's not the best idea to get up so fast…

There was a loud groan from the left hand side of Romano's bed and he peered over the side sleepily to find a tangled, clumsy mirror image of himself… thinking about it… what was Feliciano even doing in his room? He had no right to be in here! He never usually bothered anyways… Romano growled in annoyance at having his morning sleep disturbed, he hated that. There is truly, nothing worse, than having your dreams disturbed by your pathetic, excitable little brother who probably only interrupted your fantastic dreams to announce that he had discovered yet another way to cook pasta, or a failed explanation as to why Pasta IS the origin of life.

What time is it anyway?

Olive eyes found their way to a tomato-shaped clock on the bedside table, a clock with tomato hands that pointed towards the current time… _half past eight_… that's way too fucking early for a weekend! A second groan in the five minutes that he'd been awake was rising from within; until he caught sight of the calendar sitting next to the clock… why was today circled in red again?

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY FRATELLO!"

That might just be why… Feliciano had soon forgotten about his pain and was squeezing the life out of his dearest, slightly older brother in less than three seconds flat.

"FELICIANO, GET OFF ME!"

Really, Romano should have guessed. This exact routine had occurred every 12th March that he could bother to remember; Feliciano would make an effort to sneak into his room, Romano would be awoken via some childish method, and then Feliciano would soon end up on the floor as a result of Romano's uncontrollable anger explosion which occurred seconds before the realisation would hit him. A rare smile tugged at the corners of Romano's mouth, despite the early rise, and the slightly awkward family meetings, the 12th of March always happened to be one of his favourite days of the year.

"Seriously, get the hell off me Feli," Romano moaned, "come on Feli! I can't get dressed with you clinging onto me like that!" Feliciano gave his brother a final squeeze before retracting his long limbs from around the neck of his beloved brother.

"I'll see you in half an hour!" Feliciano sang, and with that, he bounded over to the far wall, snuck through the loose panelling, and was gone.

Sighing in exasperation, and also to fill the silence which had enveloped the room upon Feliciano's exit, Romano looked around his room from his clean, yet rumpled, simple white double bed.

There was his bedside table, as previously mentioned. It held the clock, a calendar, a few scattered study notes, an oil lamp and two large tomatoes with a glass of milk just in case he got hungry in the night.

Scratch that he was hungry now, Romano swiped a single tomato into his hands and quietly munched as he allowed his thoughts to continue their wandering.

There was a desk in the corner, complete with two simple, wooden chairs. It was littered with more of the study notes and a few thick books. There were also various sketches darted here and there. A few splodges of paint decorated the frayed and uneven red carpet floor around said desk.

His wooden wardrobe lay to the right hand side of his sight from the bed; it stood next to an average sized window which looked out over The Great Fields of Italia. There was a full length mirror positioned next to the wardrobe, though a cased violin and guitar obscured it partially.

The final wall which lay opposite his bed was filled with a huge bookcase which almost spanned the whole wall, save for 50cm wide gaps at either side where the wooden panelling, which secretly joined his room to Feliciano's, was exposed. The bookcase was filled with a variety of thing to describe Romano Vargas' life up until this very moment. There were various paintings and sketches hanging from shelves or hiding behind the copious number of books he had accumulated over his time on Earth. These books ranged from art books, to journals, revision books, to sketch books, to 1000 gardening hints and tips, to romance novels and adventure comics with various horror novels placed here and there. There were also various ornaments and memorabilia which had collected over time, such as a canvas from a five year old Feliciano, and a small tomato shaped money box. Two ornate daggers were placed artistically near the top of the bookcase above an equally beautiful, jewel encrusted sword.

There was a single sepia coloured photograph, carefully framed and thoughtfully placed at the centre of the case amidst the chaos of books and artwork, yet it would be the first thing you would notice upon entering the room; simply because it was the only area of the shelves that appeared to have been kept orderly, unlike the haphazard placement of the various memories and knowledge scattered about the rest of the area.

Romano sighed, the tomato was gone and he really needed to be at that meeting by nine at the latest, there would be hell to pay if he wasn't… and no breakfast. He dragged himself out of bed and slumped over to the wardrobe; lazily pulling out a simple white robe adorned with a red sash embroidered by gold stitching and chucking it hastily onto his bed. After a few more minutes of rummaging around he located the pristine white baggy trousers he was supposed to wear underneath the robe, and a white beret for his head.

To be quite honest he thought the clothes looked like some form of old fashioned nightwear, however it was traditional and it was just for a few hours so he gritted his teeth and quickly pulled the boring material over his head. He soon located a plain necklace with a cross dangling from the end of it, as was the symbol of his country. He quickly ran a brush through lush brown hair in a much failed attempt to calm his major bed-head. As usual, a very prominent curl to the left of his head jutted out at a ridiculous angle which never ceased to annoy him, no matter what he tried, the darn thing would always remain on end as if someone had run an electric current though that single strand of eternally defiant hair.

Feliciano had the same problem, though he didn't really seem to care about it as Romano did. That and Feliciano's hair curl was more docile than Romano's and didn't stick out vertically. It was one of the slight differences that set their appearances apart.

To begin with, Romano was a centimetre taller than Feliciano, and he was proud of it too! Feliciano's eyes were a soft shade of hazel, whereas Romano's eyes seemed to take on a more olive tone where the lively green in his eyes had become accentuated. His hair was a tad darker than Feliciano's auburn locks and physically, Romano was slightly leaner. They weren't identical twins, but it was near impossible to tell them apart from only appearance upon first encounters; though it wasn't as if many had been permitted _that_ experience.

Glaring at the tomato clock, Romano snatched up his folder for the years work and exited his bedroom, quickly running down the stairs, dashing through kitchen, living room and opening the door which exited his lonely living quarters.

He nervously stepped out into a huge corridor; it seemed to go on forever and made him feel very small in comparison; particularly as his clothes_ almost_ camouflaged him. He might live in the palace, however that didn't mean he got to leave his quarters on a day to day basis like his younger counterpart, in fact, he usually had trouble finding his way to the palace's dining room, as was expected of him once a year. Each year, he would stroll through the corridors and rooms and gawp in amazement at the grandiose rooms that Feliciano saw as "home," whilst trying to retrieve a mental map from the attic in his memories which should tell him exactly where he was supposed to be going.

Lavish, blood red carpets contrasted with snow white walls. Decorative pillars sprang from the walls here and there and numerous blazing torches lit the way, ancient tapestries told the tales of those who had previously walked these corridors. Romano could easily spend a week, lost within history and art, however he never had a week; he had half a day each and every year on his birthday. The one day where all the servants of the palace were expelled, forced to take both the morning and afternoon off in celebration of the life of a Prince; the only time when the palace was empty at last and Romano could spend time with his family and live with them as he should have been able to.

Romano shrugged off the unsavoury feelings and walked down never-ending, long winding corridors, his white robe billowing behind him with each foot fall. His rhythmic footsteps slowed as he passed a royal canvas of his handsome father standing proud upon a hill, kitted in full shining armour, chivalrous sword raised in high salute to the legions before him; it was an image that radiated leadership and the previous strength of beloved Italia leaked from its acrylic colours. It was a magnificent work of art and Romano had always secretly wanted to believe that it was a true representation of his father, however such art had to be questioned as much of the glory was superimposed when it came to royal art.

Picking up his pace as time ticked on, more corners were turned and numerous paintings speedily observed, until a rather large image caught his artistic eye. It spanned from floor to roof and was exceptionally wide, though the colours were strangely dull and the quality didn't particularly stand out in comparison to the hundreds of magnificent pieces that were restrained within the palace walls, but it was the story behind the painting that piqued his attention.

It was a traditional war painting, two sides battling upon what appeared to be the fields of Italia with a cautiously painted group of figures within the centre of the recklessly painted chaos, they seemed to be the heart of the battle and the commotion rippled from them, the sky above raged with itself, a calm blue in some area's whilst over powered by an angry grey where deaths presence inside the image appeared more prominent.

Suddenly, quick, light footsteps were heard and Romano cursed. The servants were supposed to be taking the day off! Why would there be anyone wandering these corridors? He span round futilely searching for a place to hide before he was found. There was a single pillar, he could try hiding in its shadow and hope that the servant just ran on past him.

It was worth a shot.

He quickly darted over to the opposite wall and flattened himself against the cold white surface, quietening his breaths and waiting impatiently for the moment when he was found because really, who hides behind a bloody pillar and gets away with it?

The footsteps continued and grew ever closer, Romano was sure his heart would explode, they grew louder and louder, until they were passing him and heading further away in the other directio-

"Romano?"

…crap.

A/N Mwah ha ha ha ha haaaaaa… I'm ending it there… yeah, so just a small taster to what I have planned, we'll get to see Antonio next chapter so don't worry! Please point out any mistake or errors I may have made, or any general tense failures. I won't take offence! I'm currently trying out various styles of writing to try and get a feel for which one I feel most comfortable with and turns out the best as well so any response is a good response! Reviewers shall have virtual pen for which to write upon their virtual paper! Free of charge! : D ((Pen and paper given out separately, offer ends on the release of the next chapter))


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